


clocks

by orphan_account



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Epitaph, F/M, Memories, pre-quarter quell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 02:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5850193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When I told you about the clocks and the tick-tocks for the first time you haven't understood. I wonder if you see it now that we're battered and worn out. Or perhaps you smile and nod as I do when you talk about propabilities? I guess I'll never find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	clocks

29:07:2:27:04:59:44

The clock starts ticking the second you are reaped; that piece of paper is a dinamyte stick and the escort's hand is a match – the wick catches fire and you can only count down time until the explosion.  
I remember me as a tribute and you as a mentor, we were quite a pair. Fighting was never mine nor your thing and yet, here we stand.  
Do you remember how I looked on my charriot? Neverthless, I remember you – little light bulbs on your suit – I wore copper wires, my stylist had a sense for irony.  
They say a victor is a survivor, a warrior, the concept of beauty, strength and power, so, pray tell, what are we doing here, cause all I see is a giant clock, ticking down.

29:06:3:32:22:01:35

The look on your face when you saw the laurel wreath on my head was that of pure surprise – did you not expect me to live? My clock hadn't hit its zero yet.  
I remember us on the victory tour – you were a marvelous dancer. I was wearing a gown the color of rust in the Capitol. Masses and masses of men and women, they all wanted to shake my hand – for what, I daresay, why congratulate me when you cheered when I was tossed into the Arena? I knew the concept of being a victor yet I never fully understood it, though you explained it to me a thousand times. You with your equations and odds and me with my, intuition you called it, we were quite a couple, weren't we?  
When I told you about the clocks and the tick-tocks for the first time you haven't understood. I wonder if you see it now that we're battered and worn out. Or perhaps you smile and nod as I do when you talk about propabilities? I guess I'd never find out.

00:00:00:09:23:10:04:27

Oh, what an irony! There are two bombs, don't you see? The first one does minor damage and lulls you into an illusion of safety and there you are – the second bomb goes off harder than you can imagine! The wick is yet again on fire and I can see the spark traveling to its final destination. The third Quarter Quell, really, darling, how could you not have predicted that?  
I remember us as tributes – oh, how ludicrous we looked, hand in hand in a golden chariot with little colorful lights everywhere on our clothes. Perhaps it was a kind of joke the Capitol finds funny – old people in silly costumes.  
I remember my hand in yours and the other one in Brutus' when we alligned on that stage. I can't figure out why, but I felt that was our curtain call, twenty-four washed out, sold out people snarling into the faces of our captors, we were quite a show, weren't we?  
I felt better when I fastened a little bolt – an old token that you gave me – to my outfit. You had a nut, Nuts and Bolts, Nuts and Volts, where's the difference? It's you and me and me and you. Tick-tock, it's a clock. Can you really say I'm making it up as it goes along now?

00:00:0:00:00:00:04:07

Can you see it yet? I hope it was a satisfying epitaph, with clocks and wires and charriots and tick-tocks. I can feel Gloss' blade pressed agaist my neck – I think I understand what it feels to be a victor now, and instead of a red string, we had a golden wire. The Cornucopia shines as bright as Sun, and I think I can make out a sihlouette of you and your coil.

00:00:0:00:00:00:00:00

**Author's Note:**

> I had too much Wiress and Beetee feels .


End file.
